


Scylla and Charybdis

by gloria_scott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Challenge Response, Community: thegameison_sh, Drama, Drug Addiction, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is caught between his two vices: Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scylla and Charybdis

**Author's Note:**

> (1) A shorter version of this was originally written for [](http://thegameison-sh.livejournal.com/profile)[**thegameison_sh**](http://thegameison-sh.livejournal.com/) Challenge #3.
> 
> (2) Inspired by this [prompt ](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/6487.html?thread=32435031#t32435031)at [](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlockbbc_fic**](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/)

_**  
Warnings: Mention of drug use and overdose.  
** _

Lestrade was bone tired as he trudged his way back to his office, but it was a deeply satisfying kind of tired; they had finally closed the damn Goring case after nearly three weeks of non-stop slogging. If he could just grab his coat without anyone waylaying him, he could head home for two days of nothing but sleep. He kept his head down and ducked into his office, stopping short just inside the door. A stranger sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair as if he belonged there. Lestrade estimated him to be about his own age, though his hairline had already begun to recede – probably made him look older than he was. His sharp, blue eyes glittered in a round face as he looked up at Lestrade and smiled. It was a cold smile that never quite reached his eyes.

 _ “Ah, Detective Inspector!” he said in an even, pleasant voice. “Please, come in and sit down.”  _

_ Lestrade scowled and fought the impulse to do a double-take of his surroundings – he was in his own office, right? He had only just been promoted to DI a few months before, and he still wasn’t quite settled in his new digs. Still, it was disconcerting to walk in on a stranger sitting at his desk, leafing through his files. He didn’t recognize the man at the desk, but wasn’t sure if this was somebody he ought to know, so he opted for “polite but stern inquiry” over “get the fuck out of my chair.” But he would be damned if he were going to sit in one of the visitor’s chairs in his own fucking office. _

_ “Can I help you, sir?” Lestrade said, stiffly.  _

_ The stranger’s smile broadened, and Lestrade silently cursed himself for appending the ‘sir’.  _

_ “Indeed you can,” he replied. “That is why I’m here. You’ve just left the company of one Sherlock Holmes, have you not?” _

_ Ah, so this was about Sherlock. Maybe the higher-ups had gotten wind of his little ace up the sleeve.  _

_ “I have,” he answered, cocking his head and raising his guard a bit higher. _

_ “You found him to be quite helpful to the Goring case, if I’m not mistaken. Do you suppose that you will be requesting his services again?” _

_ Lestrade lowered his head and put his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, but who are you? And what’s your interest in Sherlock?” _

_ “My interest is purely personal in nature. Don’t worry, Detective Inspector,” he said, waving a hand, “you’ve done nothing wrong. In fact I’m rather pleased with the mutually beneficial results you both were able to achieve with this partnership.”  _

_ Personal interest, was it? A few pieces clicked into place – this must be the elder brother, Mycroft. Lestrade didn’t know much about him, but the background check he’d done indicated the man occupied a minor position in the Home Office. He certainly had the softness about the middle of a bureaucrat, although the cut and quality of his suit, not to mention the unmistakable whiff of _lordliness_ , belied his purported station. Public school educated, but not a lot of family money that Lestrade could find trace of. And if arrogance were hereditary, the family resemblance between the brothers was striking. _

“You’re his brother, Mycroft, aren’t you?”

“Very good, Detective Inspector. I see you’ve done your homework.” He rose and came around the front of the desk. His smile was warmer now, and seemingly genuine; the corners of his eyes crinkled noticeably. “I do apologize for intruding, but my brother can be quite a handful, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. I do try to look after him when I can. It would ease my mind to know he’s under your watchful eye as well.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve my own job to do, you know.”

“Of course, of course! But I’m sure you’ll benefit from his help again in the future, and one good turn deserves another. I won’t insult you by offering remuneration for your help – I, too, have done my homework. You’re a man of impeccable integrity, by all accounts.” Mycroft took a few steps closer, skirting just inside that invisible sphere reserved for Lestrade’s more intimate acquaintances. “I would, of course, be happy to help you out in other ways, should you require it.” 

Lestrade tensed and his heart took up a more rapid rhythm. His instinct was to step back, but he stood his ground against the intrusion. 

“What could you possibly do for me?” he asked.

“One never knows. You’ve distinguished yourself quite admirably, though you’re not without your adversaries. Sometimes having a friend in the government can be useful. Good evening, Detective Inspector.”

***

A few weeks later, when he laid eyes on Mycroft Holmes for the second time, all of the man’s stiff formality and haughtiness were gone. He sat, unmoving, beside his brother’s hospital bed; his expensive suit was rumpled, tie half undone, hair slightly disheveled. He said nothing as Lestrade entered the hospital room and hung about just inside the door, unwilling to intrude too far into this private scene. 

Lestrade could have kicked himself for not seeing the signs of addiction in the brilliant young man, now lying at the crossroads between this world and the next. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to see it; the accolades he’d received for clearing an intractable case had impaired his judgment. His ambition had made him selfish, and that selfishness could easily be the source of his undoing. Gregson for one wouldn’t hesitate to use this against him, somehow. Associating with a junkie was all well and good if he were an informant, but that’s a trait generally frowned upon in a consultant. 

When Mycroft finally did look up to meet Lestrade’s gaze, his eyes were clouded by a lack of sleep and an abundance of worry, and Lestrade quickly looked away. It was more than he was meant to see, he was sure. He had thought to ask Mycroft about his brother’s history of drug use, offer names and numbers of treatment programs, but stopped himself. That could wait; at least until the poor sod was off the ventilator and out of the coma they’d induced to stop the seizures. 

“Would you like me to get you some coffee?” he asked instead.

Mycroft offered a weak and weary smile. “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you,” he said, and returned to his silent vigil.

***

Their third meeting was in St. James’s Park. Lestrade sat on a bench overlooking the water, taking full advantage of the first warm spring day by having his lunch outdoors. He’d just finished up and was brushing the crumbs from his lap when he saw Mycroft ambling towards him, using a furled, black umbrella as a walking stick. Lestrade smiled and waved him over. Although their first meeting a few months earlier had been prickly, he’d come around to the conclusion that Mycroft wasn’t a bad bloke, if a bit odd. 

“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade! What a pleasant surprise. Enjoying the warm weather, I see.”

“How’s Sherlock?” Lestrade asked as Mycroft sat down.

“Much better, thank you,” he beamed. “In fact, I’m glad I chanced across you this afternoon. Sherlock will be returning to London in a few weeks. I was hoping he might be able to work with you again.” 

Lestrade didn’t believe this meeting was a coincidence. His initial surprise and pleasure at seeing the man again were tempered with slight suspicion; had Mycroft followed him? Still, Lestrade couldn’t blame him for looking out for his brother, but he just couldn’t risk having a liability like Sherlock around. 

Lestrade shook his head. “I’m sorry; I don’t think that’s possible, given the circumstances.” 

Mycroft’s smile faltered, but he kept his tone light. “Please do reconsider. It really would be best for my brother to keep his faculties occupied. Boredom is the bane of his sobriety, you know.”

 _  
And your brother may be the bane of mine   
_   
, Lestrade thought.

“I’ll not risk my career for a junkie.” 

Mycroft lowered his head and smiled again, holding Lestrade’s eyes rather earnestly with his gaze. 

“I would consider it a personal favor.”

Lestrade could feel himself warming up to this man, and immediately sought to snuff out the growing flame. He didn’t want to go there, not again. Back in the day, and well before he’d joined the force, he’d admittedly been a bit of a yob. Hell, there’d been a time when his only real hobbies had been sucking cock and taking drugs. He’d left that life well behind him and had been on the straight and narrow for fifteen years, aside from cigarettes and the occasional pint. Now here he was, smack dab between these two Holmes brothers, threatening to pull him off the wagon again one way or the other. Of course, he felt the pull more strongly with this one. Honestly, the drugs never did all that much for him, but the sex… just the sound of a man’s zip would have had Lestrade salivating like one of Pavlov’s bloody dogs. He shook the thought away and stiffened his spine.

“I don’t know you!” he barked. It came out much harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t want there to be any mistake. 

Mycroft’s earnest warmth evaporated, and he coolly reminded Lestrade that if it hadn’t been for his brother, he would likely have put an innocent man away, and wouldn’t that have given Gregson a cache of ammunition to use against him? There were times he was going to need Sherlock, and it was in his best interest to do everything in his power to maintain a relationship with him.

Lestrade knew Mycroft was probably right about all of it, and he regretted slamming the door on the man quite so forcefully. But he did have his career to consider.

“Fine,” he relented, though his voice remained gruff. “I’ll work with him again _if_ I run into a dead end _and_ he stays clean. He’s got one more chance, that’s it.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft answered curtly. Without another word, he gathered up his umbrella and stood to go. Lestrade watched him walk briskly away until a curve in the path hid him from view. 

_  
No use crying over spilt milk,    
_   
he thought, ruefully. _Maybe I’ll buy him a drink sometime to make it up._

***

It had been almost five years, but Lestrade immediately recognized the man standing next to the black limousine outside of the school where the cabbie had been shot. His hair was thinner and he had lost a fair amount of weight, but the haughty demeanor and taste for well-tailored suits appeared unchanged. As Sherlock and John walked away, he turned and said something to the young woman next to him – PA most likely – before looking up and catching Lestrade’s eye. Lestrade thought about their last meeting with some regret. He still valued his sobriety, but this abstinence lark was getting tiresome. Maybe a tumble in the back of that big black car was just what he needed, and then they could get that long-overdue drink. 

_  
That’s a bit backwards   
_   
, Lestrade thought, and smiled. Mycroft gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment; it was enough for Lestrade to almost make up his mind. But before he could take two steps towards the car, Mycroft turned away. His driver opened the door for him; he disappeared behind the tinted black windows and was gone. Lestrade sighed heavily and shrugged his shoulders. _Ah well, never mind. Duty calls._

  
 


End file.
